Chapter 1

Reading Settings

Translator: Soafp

TL: For the people that are unaware, read this oneshot first before you continue.

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It was on a holiday afternoon, in my somewhat rundown apartment room that could easily be mistaken for something from the Showa era.

A girl with silky black hair falling down to her waist, tied up with a bandana, and a face that still retained some innocence, looked at me with uncertainty.

She had just come over directly after her club activities, leaving her things behind.

Taking off her coat, she was wearing a white sailor uniform with a navy skirt, and on top of that, she had an apron on.

The size of her ch*st, pushing against her uniform, far exceeded the average—it was a bit of a sting to someone like me, with my lack of any romantic history.

The girl in front of me busily stood in the kitchen she’d taken over, and as she set the dish she had made in front of me, she clasped her hands together and said, “Let’s eat,” before picking up a spoon.

“How is it? I tried to make it just like I was taught.”

“Well, the last time I had my mom’s fried rice was when I was in elementary school. Honestly, I’m not too confident…”

As I muttered, I took a bite of the fried rice she had made. A nostalgic taste spread in my mouth.

It had a slightly sticky texture, not completely separated, and the amount of Worcestershire sauce she had added seemed a bit too much…

It had a unique flavor that made me wonder if it was really fried rice, but I didn’t dislike it.

I thought I’d never be able to taste this again… It was a terribly nostalgic flavor.

Most likely, there was no doubt about it.

It was the taste of the fried rice my mom used to make, exactly as I remembered it.

“…Well, I guess it tastes just like the one my mother used to make.”

“Oh, really? Thank goodness! I mean, I learned how to make it a long time ago, but it seems my body remembered!”

She smiled happily at me, and I didn’t know how to respond, so I looked back down at the fried rice in front of me.

“I think it was originally my mom’s… Oh wait, was it grandma’s recipe?”

Yeah. It wasn’t my paternal grandmother.

She’s already passed away—my maternal grandmother.

She wasn’t a professional chef.

If so, the only person who would know even a portion of my mother’s home-cooked recipes — would be the person who taught her to cook.

“Well, yeah. I learned it from my mom. My grandma… passed away a long time ago.” (Mina)

Her voice was cheerful, but there was a hint of loneliness in her smile.

…My memories are vague, but I think she passed away when she was in middle school.

She was surprisingly energetic for her age.

Honestly, even now, it’s hard to believe she’s gone.

As far as I know, she wasn’t the type of person to leave behind something like that.

In fact, the idea of leaving behind recipes for homemade dishes…

That’s something that wouldn’t come to mind unless you knew your days were numbered, or so I think.

My own mother was the same way, but really…I’ve come to realize that such things can come suddenly, out of nowhere.

“Uhm, Mina-chan. You don’t have to bother making dinner and coming all the way over here just because you live next door, you know? I mean, it just kind of happened because of the conversation.”

“Souya-san, aren’t you being a bit cold? Aren’t you happy to eat the home-cooked meal made by your cute, adorable cousin-wife?”

While puffing up her cheeks and playfully pretending to cry with a “yoyoyo,” her gestures were cute in a somewhat calculated way.

Despite her coming at me with an even clingier vibe than before, I responded while trying to hold her back.

“I told you to stop calling yourself my ‘cousin-wife.’ Seriously, jokes like that aren’t appropriate for a girl your age.”

Even though I tried to respond seriously, I couldn’t help but feel not too bad about it, which I found quite simple-minded of myself.

…I reminded myself that taking this seriously would only lead to trouble, and took a deep breath.

Seriously, what is she thinking?

Her name is Mina Yamanaka. She’s the only daughter of my mom’s sister, Kona, making her my cousin. She moved into this apartment building about six months ago—around the time she started high school this spring.

And, well, she’s been claiming to be my ‘cousin-wife’ and coming over to play almost every day.

…Well, she’s probably just teasing me with that claim, though.

Honestly, what on earth is going on here?